


The Other, Other Guy

by dead_dogs_eye



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, Kid-fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dead_dogs_eye/pseuds/dead_dogs_eye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the Hulk isn't the only alter-ego Bruce has?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other, Other Guy

“Bruce. Bruce. Bruce. Bruce Bruce Bruce. Hey. Hey Bruce. Bruce. Hey. Hey. Bruce, hey... ok, fair warning I'm coming in.”

Tony strode through the door to Bruce's apartment, draining the last of his beer as he went. “Aw, man,” he sighed, upending the bottle and watching a single drop of liquid fall from the mouth. “Hey, Bruce, you got any-”

He stopped abruptly and didn't even notice the beer bottle slipping from his grasp onto the floor, where it promptly smashed into a pile of glass shards. “Ok,” he said shakily. “Ok... ok, what?”

Standing before him, nearly buried in Bruce's clothes, was a frail-looking child, no older than eight or nine, staring at him with wide eyes. At the sound of the bottle shattering the child's face contorted in fear and he disappeared behind the couch almost too quickly for Tony to register his movement. When his shaken mind caught up with his eyes, he did notice that the kid had seemed to leave Bruce's clothes behind in a rumpled pile on the floor.

“Alright, what the actual fuck is going on here?”

There was a faint sound coming from behind the couch, so quiet that Tony had to creep forward and strain to hear it.

“ _...don't hurt me, please don't hurt me, please..._ ”

“Woah, kid, I'm not... I just wasn't expecting you. This isn't a particularly kid-friendly environment.” Tony tip-toed quietly up to the couch until he could put one knee up on the cushions and peer over the back. “How did you get here, any- HOLY shit, yeah, you're naked. Forgot about that. Um...” he cast about anxiously before his eyes landed on an unattractive handmade afghan draped over a nearby chair. “Here.” He dropped it over the back of the couch without looking. “You decent yet?”

“Where am I?” the child said quietly.

“Avengers Tower. Specifically the living room of one Dr. Bruce Banner.” Tony didn't miss how the kid's eyes widened.

“But... but that's my name.”

“Banner?”

“Bruce Banner. But... I'm not a doctor. My dad is, though.”

Tony's head felt suddenly a bit light. “You're... are you Bruce's son?”

“No, my dad is Brian. I told you, I'm Bruce.” The child's fear and hesitance was slowly being replaced with frustration at Tony's apparent inability to follow along.

“You're... oh. Oh. Stupid, stupid, how could I be so... Well, this is new.” Tony pulled out his phone and quickly hacked into SHIELD's personnel files. He pulled up Bruce's and scrolled to the “Early Life” section.

“How old are you, kid?”

“My name is Bruce. And I'm nine,” the child – Bruce – replied. Tony could practically see the thought “adults are weird” scrolling behind his eyes. The billionaire had made a point of spending as little time with young children as possible and even he knew that face. He glanced down at his phone to confirm his suspicion.

_1978 – Dr. Brian Banner kills Rebecca Banner after history of physical and emotional abuse of both R. Banner and subject._

“So, I'm not sure when you were born but I'm guessing it was 1969, huh?” Bruce nodded. “I have a sneaking suspicion as to what's going on. And you and me are gonna have a long chat when you fit into your clothes again.”

It was incredible how closely little Bruce's expression resembled his adult counterpart's “Tony, I don't know what you're talking about and I've realized I don't care” face he was so familiar with. The boy's face suddenly scrunched up in confusion.

“I don't think this is my living room, it doesn't look like my house. Who are you? And where's my mom? Why can't... why can't I remember anything?”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, that's gonna be a long story. How about we watch TV instead?”

Bruce looked down at his feet, suddenly shy. “I'm not allowed.”

“I won't tell if you won't.”

“But what if my dad finds out? He'll be really angry.”

“You let me worry about that,” Tony said, grimacing. “So, TV? Let's just hope you haven't torn yours out and used the space for an herb garden or something... ah! No, just hidden it behind an exotic wall hanging. That's my bro. JARVIS, find something appropriate for an astonishingly intelligent nine-year-old.”

The TV came to life showing a program about extra-solar planets, with plenty of brightly colored 3D animations and not too many boring professors. Tony settled on the couch and waited for his lab-partner-turned-child to emerge and join him. The engineer had planned on staying up for another few hours at the very least, but the combination of the comfortable couch and the narrator's soothing voice, not to mention just how warm Bruce kept his apartment, soon had him nodding off. At some point he was aware of Bruce climbing onto the couch next to him and slowing inching closer and closer until he was cuddled up against Tony's side sound asleep.


End file.
